Blame It on DePeche Mode  

On my second glass of red wine, 
popcorn, the pick, for dinner, 
my heart lurches, my brain reels, 
music blasts from the stereo. 
Rocking and rolling with my own thoughts, 
I hug myself to myself to my self again. 
I am in a little bit of pain, 
it's dark, inside and out, 
and I don't care to light a lamp. 
And I begin to wonder, worry even ... 
.. is this how it starts with people? 
The final descent into hell, 
wine and popcorn for dinner, 
house an endless wander, 
phone a constant quiet. 
Is this how it begins, 
the journey deep inside, 
to end and begin again? 
The core ache, the gut sore, 
the brain rot, the healing, 
the peeling away of the years, 
the exposure, the burn, the live 
and the let learn-ing some of what is okay, 
like popcorn can be a meal if you wish so, 
and blood red wine true complement to same.  

***

"black celebration, i'll drink to that, black celebration ... tonight"  ... depeche mode

... previously published in Poetry Life & Times, April issue, see link below.  Janet Caldwell of AuthorsDen is the featured/interviewed poet in this month's issue ... check it out.